For the Love of a Princess
by EugeniaVictoria
Summary: "He stared at her, his breath coming hard. Was this a vision, concocted by some vicious power to torture him with false hope?" Take another look inside the Huntsman's elusive mind, this time after Snow White's awakening. Sequel to 'True Love's Kiss'.


_This is an accompanying piece or sequel to my other story, "True Love's Kiss", which received very positive reviews and made me want to write more. I had planned to post this as the second and final installment of said story but then I decided to post both chapters as seperate entities._ _I have now marked True Love's Kiss as complete and, consequently, this one-shot is complete as well. I hope you will enjoy this one as much as the first one. Please let me know. Oh, and I'm definitely toying with the idea of starting another SWATH story, a longer one this time, with multiple chapters. Would you guys be interested?  
_

* * *

_**When I thought that I fought this war alone **_

_**You were there by my side on the frontline **_

_**When I thought that I fought without a cause **_

_**You gave me a reason to try**_

_**"War", Poets of the Fall  
**_

* * *

"Lad, are you alright?"

The low, concerned voice of an older man pierced through the haze of the Huntsman's intoxicated mind. With an effort, he cracked open one eye to cast a drunken glance at the soldier towering over him, letting out an unintelligible grunt as he did so.

"Excuse me?" The inquirer insisted, his pitiful eyes taking in the sight of the Huntsman crouching against the wall of one of the castle's massive watchtowers. His powerful shoulders were slouched, his body limp; in his right hand he clutched a bottle filled with some liquid that had obviously succeeded in working its poisenous magic.

He reached out to touch the younger man's arm, out of fear the poor drunkard would pass out and succumb to the drink completely. He intended to pat him lightly, like a father would his drunken son, but jerked back in shock when the bulky man suddenly gripped his arm without forewarning.

"WHAT?" The Huntsman's deep voice demanded, his blue eyes darkly hostile. "What d' yer want from me?"

The soldier, although still surprised by this rather sober reaction, composed himself quickly. He disentangled himself from the other's grip and stepped a few feet away from him.

He answered calmly, "Just making sure you're not dying on us, Huntsman."

Eric let out a grim laugh, letting his head fall back against the hard stone wall. "I wish it was so," he professed.

"What ails you so, lad?" the soldier asked sympathetically.

"'Tis none of your concern, Aelfric," Eric replied, finally remembering the man's name. They had talked briefly after the Huntsman had arrived at the stronghold with his sombre party. Aelfric had allotted him and the dwarves a place to sleep and something to eat before telling them that he had to go and supervise the lying in state of the Princess. _The Princess... _

As if reading his mind, Aelfric observed sharply, "Is it Milady's death that troubles you, son? Is this what - "

"For God's sake," the Huntsman cut in, his face contorted with rage and some other dark emotion, "just let it be, man!" He raised the bottle to his lips and took a defiant sip, darting a dark glance at the soldier. "Just... leave me be."

Aelfric nodded hesitantly. He wasn't put off by the Huntsman's fierce reaction – quite the contrary, it only increased his sympathy. He had taken a liking to this fellow immediately upon his arrival at the castle, for there was an air of misery and despair surrounding him that tugged at Aelfric's own heart. Years ago, he too had almost killed himself over the death of a beloved woman he had been unable to protect, and he could relate to the feelings of guilt and sorrow that must be troubling the Huntsman right now. Of course, he could not be sure that the Huntsman indeed loved the Princess but his instincts hardly ever failed him, and the sorrow that seemed to sit on the man's shoulders like a carrion crow spoke louder than words.

"Alright then," Aelfric relented, offering a mild and knowing smile that would have disconcerted Eric, had he been sober enough to read the barely hidden compassion and sympathy in it. "But don't you drink yourself into an early grave, my lad," he added with a fatherly expression.

He had already turned away and was about to walk off, when he heard the Huntsman's voice once more.

"I failed," he muttered. "I failed and now she's gone."

The soldier stopped in his tracks but did not turn around. Bitterness and self-loathing were palpable in the young man's voice; strong feelings that reminded Aelfric so much of his own sentiments upon the death of his own late wife. His only consolation back then had been that his beloved one, the epitome of human kindness, would surely rest in peace forever.

"She is safe now, Huntsman," he assured him. "Safe in the hands of God."

"It was my failure that robbed her of her life," Eric persisted, ignoring his words. "My weakness."

Aelfric finally turned around to face him.

"Then be strong now," he implored, "and make her proud. If you face the darkness of your soul, you will defeat it. Believe me. I know what it's like to lose... a loved one." He added as an afterthought, "Time heals all wounds, Huntsman. It'll get easier."

A short silence fell, both men lost in their own thoughts, until Eric replied, almost in a whisper, "There's nothing for me here, Aelfric. There's nothing left."

The soldier looked him squarely in the eye. "There will be. You will find your courage, Huntsman. And until then," he added, approaching him and putting a hand on his shoulder, which the younger man did not shrug off this time, "be at peace, as she is, up there where no sorrow exists. And cherish the memory of the light she brought into your life."

"Aye," Eric nodded half-heartedly and closed his eyes, his head falling back against the wall once more. He felt Aelfric's presence for another minute or so and figured that the man was still looking down at him, but he could take no more. He did not want to be comforted any more and he did not want to talk about any of it. For Christ's sake, all he wanted to do was drink and forget about it all.

When Aelfric's heavy footsteps had finally faded away and he was alone at last, the Huntsman opened his bloodshot eyes and looked up at the night sky, not heeding his immediate surroundings. Occasionally, someone would address him kindly or trip over his outstretched legs, but their questions and curses went unnoticed. Eric simply did not care.

As he gazed at the beauty overhead, he tried desperately not to remember Aelfric's words, not to let them in. He wanted to remain in his numb, drunken state, void of all emotion except the urge to raise the bottle to his lips and drown out all the feelings threatening to break through. He wanted to push it all away for but a little longer, knowing that this dull stupor would soon give way to sharp pain, just as severed limbs are numb with shock for a fleeting moment before their agony begins.

But as his eyes drank in the mysterious sight of the universe, so vast and endless, the contrast of the pale stars to the blackness of the sky reminded him instantly of _her_, and the thoughts came crashing down on him with the force of an avalanche. He no longer tried to stop her image from invading his heart and soul.

His last glimpse of her was still so vivid in his memory; an image burned into his mind as sharply as a sailor's tattoo, and like a tattoo it would surely be a part of him for the rest of his miserable life. She had looked so frail and innocent lying on that bier, reminding him painfully of his failure to protect her when she needed him the most. Once again he had failed a woman he cherished, and the guilt tortured him like an arrow straight through the heart. He was not a man. He was a nothing. His inability to look after her was the sole reason for her untimely death, and no friendly word, no amount of alcohol would ever manage to convince him otherwise. He was responsible.

He raised the bottle to his lips and drank greedily, not even grimacing at the brew's bitter taste. He had done this for years - drinking, endless drinking, in the vain attempt to drown out the thoughts that tormented him. Ever since Sara's passing, he had done almost nothing else; it had become more than a bad habit - the alcohol was his lifeblood, paradox though it was. The lifeblood of a useless drunkard who had lost all hope.

Until_ her_.

She had pierced through the darkness of his heart like a vivid flash of lightning, blinding him with her goodness and spirit that reminded him so much of his beloved wife. Her presence had shaken the foundations of his self-destruction and weariness, like the sun rekindles life when spring emerges to replace the coldness of a harsh and dismal winter. But now she too had gone, and there was nothing left in this world he would ever care for again.

_Snow White,_ he muttered to himself.

And if he lived to be a hundred – which he hoped he wouldn't – he would never be able to forget that face of hers. Never before had he ever beheld such supreme beauty, not even when he looked at Sara, who had been a gorgeous woman, or even the Black Queen, who was hauntingly beautiful in a stern, frosty way. True, the Princess had not the ripe feminity of his late wife, nor the bold loftiness of Ravenna, but there was something about her delicate features, her paleness of face and the blackness of her hair that touched every part of him, body and soul.

"What have you done to me?" He demanded to know of her, knownig how foolish he was being but unable to keep his mouth shut. "Why can't I let you go?"

This petite young girl, little more than a child, had bewitched him, warming him with her fiery spirit, and now that she was no more, he felt cold, frozen.  
He wished he could tell himself that it would have been better if he had never met her, but he couldn't. Only with Sara had he ever felt as happy and at peace as with her, and the memory brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. If only he could have seen her alive one last time, so fair and feisty; if only he could have heard her voice once more, deep and soothing, strangely pleasant to his ears.

He must be going mad already, for suddenly he could hear that very voice in his head as if she were standing but a few yards away from him.

"_Iron will melt, and it will ride inside of itself..." _

Eric let out a bitter laugh and raised the bottle to his lips. There was no denying it; she was there in his head, haunting him. Damn her.

What the hell was she trying to tell him? And why had she chosen this very moment to speak to him, when he was hollow and lonely and trying to push her out of his mind, so that he could go on with his sham of a life and drink until he was dead? When he left the chapel, he had vowed not to take the coward's route this time, and he was still determined not to take his own life - but if the alcohol were to kill him, he didn't think he'd protest.

"Go away," he muttered petulantly, willing her to let him wallow in his self-pity in peace. He did not even care what people would think of him if they saw him cowering there in the dirt, drink in hand and talking to himself like one half-crazed. He just didn't give a damn. "Go away, Princess," he slurred once more - but of course she did not comply. He'd always known she was too stubborn for her own good.

Her resounding voice continued, _"All these years all I've known is darkness, but I have never seen a brighter light than when my eyes just opened." _

He frowned at her choice of words, still clueless as to what she was trying to say. But then his fuzzled brain remembered what he'd told her in the chapel, and he nodded involuntarily. Of course. She was a queen in Heaven now, where the light must be bright enough to dazzle even the blind. So this was why she had come, to let him know that she was safe up there in that place no shadow could touch?

"Among the angels..." he whispered, sighing in spite of himself. God would keep her safe, the one thing he, Eric, had failed to do. He was glad no one would ever be able to harm her again.

A small smile tugged at his lips and he almost wished she would go on. And she did, but it was not what he had expected to hear.

_"And I know that light burns in all of you."_

All of you?

He'd thought she was speaking to him alone...

His head snapped up, his brain suddenly not as fogged by the alcohol as before. A cool breeze caressed his skin and he shivered, but it was not from the cold alone. He could feel the goosebumps on his exposed arms as he listened.

Her voice rang out to him so clearly it made his ears vibrate and his heart thud with a strange emotion. Tense and on edge, he now perceived the other noises that surrounded him: the flaring of a hundred torches, the shuffling of feet, the murmur of a large crowd gathered somewhere close to him.

But this could not be... or could it?

He leaped to his feet, the bottle falling to the ground, and turned in the direction of the noise. He thought he caught a glimpse of a small person, clothed in white, standing erect in the middle of an oval of onlookers, and suddenly his legs started moving of their own accord. He ran towards the crowd, mindlessly shoving people away in order to reach one of the front rows.

"Those embers must turn to flame, iron into sword. I will become your weapon, forced from the fierce fire that I know is in your hearts..."

He stared at _her, _his breath coming hard.

Was this a vision, concocted by some vicious power to torture him with false hope? Were his eyes fooling him, mocking his secret wish that his kiss on her lips would have the power to wake her from the dead?

But then he looked at her face, determined, stubborn, and the certainty that this was real struck him like a blow.

She was ALIVE.

She was breathing, feeling, speaking. "For I have seen what she sees."

He could not tear his eyes away from her, relief beyond description flooding him as he drank her in. This was no vision. She was right there, as strong-willed and spirited as ever. She had risen from the dead because he had... no. He couldn't be sure it was his kiss that had saved her. He was not so conceited as to think that he, a useless drunkard, a mere nothing compared to her, had the power to save someone as pure and perfect as she was from death. But it did not really make a difference. She was here, and that was all that mattered to him right now.

"I know what she knows. I can kill her."

She paused for a moment, and the Huntsman, still in shock and awe, realized what she had been talking about the entire time. She was urging them to believe in her, to trust in her strength, telling them that she was ready to defeat the Black Queen. His heart swelled in his chest as he gazed at the fierce expression on her face.

Her eyes were bright with steely resolve, her pale face eerily beautiful. A reverent silence prevailed as she raised her voice once more_, _"And I'd rather die today than live another day of this death! And who will ride with me?" She shouted, "Who will be my brother?"

It was as if her courage and determination had transferred to the audience during her speech, for the people raised their arms collectively, hands balled into fists, and cried out in unison, "I!", the haunting echo of it branding all of their hearts.

Eric lowered his arm, for he too had shouted out loud, pledging his allegiance to her. He would fight with her to the death.

He gazed at her - eyes wide, the raven-black hair blowing softly in the wind - and a smile touched his lips. It filled him with pride to see her so bold and spirited, raising the crowd against Ravenna with a passion in her voice he had never heard before. She was no longer cold and lifeless, caught in the clutches of Death, but strong, on the verge of becoming the leader she was born to be.

She was silent now, exhausted after her moving speech, and she looked on as her people knelt before her, heads bowed in respect. They had already chosen her to be their mistress and commander, a queen in all but name.

Eric sank slowly to his knees, his smile more mischievous now as he willed her to meet his eyes, but he sensed she was too agitated to look at anonye in particular. He didn't mind. His heart was full to bursting with elation and joy. He'd thought he'd lost her, but now she was back from the dead, and hope bloomed inside of him again like a delicate flower.

With her back among the living, perhaps there was still a chance for this kingdom to heal. Perhaps there was a chance for _him _to heal. She had become his lifeline in the last few weeks, the light in his dark world, and now this light, which had been extinguished for a short time by the dark arts of the Evil Queen, was shining again, burning through the coldest night, brighter and more inspiring than ever.

Eventually, everyone rose to their feet and the Princess inclined her head gracefully to them all. Duke Hammonds stepped forward and addressed the crowd, but the Huntsman was not really listening. His eyes were fixed on Snow White, willing her to turn around and find him among the crowd. She didn't. He did not know what to do, torn between the urge to run to her and enfold her in his arms and the desire to shut himself away from the world and sort out his thoughts until he could make sense of all of this. But he was unable to move away, so strong was the hold she had on him.

He was prevented from making up his mind a moment later, when William, who had been standing across from the Huntsman the entire time, approached the Princess and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. He looked strange, his composed face barely hiding the multitude of things he must be feeling. Eric glimpsed some of his own emotions in the other man's expression and was not entirely sure he liked what he saw.

He watched suspiciously as the Prince urged her to follow him into the castle, and frowned when Snow White eventually acquiesced and placed her hand in is. Together they slowly walked away, the young woman leaning towards her guide as he propelled her in the direction of the great entrance.

The Huntsman, his smile now a tight line, remained behind, standing rooted to the spot even as the other onlookers gradually began scattering in order to follow the Duke's instructions or go about their own business. He could not help staring at the pair of Snow White and William, guile rising up in his throat, threating to mar his joy and happiness.

An irrational feeling of jealousy clasped his heart in a tight grasp. Should _he_ not be one by her side right now? Shouldn't he be guiding and helping her, he who knew her so well? Something told him he had a right to be there and hold her hand instead of the Prince.

For deep inside he knew the truth: that it was _his_ kiss that had brought her back, not William's. It was the kind of thing a man knows in his heart of hearts, a knowledge that comes only from the deepest and purest place of his soul, the core of his inner self. Why on earth a lowly commoner should have it in him to reanmite a future queen, he did not know, but he embraced the truth like a child would accept a simple gift.

Had he possessed greater wisdom, like the dwarves or the philosophers of old, he might have figured that it had something to do with the fact that he was indeed _not_ a prince, but had many of the honorable traits one would look for in those of royal blood. He was an unpretentious, a straightforward man, as fundamental as the elements themselves, but for all his simplicity he had a noble and stout heart, and a spirit worthy of a crown. He would not have believed it, but he too possessed a kind of purity. It was not the purity of innocence, for he had seen too much evil and sinned too often in his still young life. No, what made him stand out, and what had given his kiss the power to redeem Snow White, was his uncanny ability to love selflessly, boundlessly. He was a free agent, unaffected by any desire to reach high or rule over anyone, and he had all of himself to give. With his love came loyalty, trust and devotion, and once his heart had been given to someone, it remained forever in that person's keeping, steadfast and true until the end.

But all of this the Huntsman did not realize, and perhaps it was for the best. He only knew that it was the love _he_ bore Snow White that had broken the spell of evil, and the moment he acquiesced to this knowledge, all the anger inside of him faded into nothingness.

He had no right to deny William the right to support the Princess, his childhood friend and early love. There was a bond between them, the mutual trust of two who had played and lived together as children. Who was he to judge the man for wishing to hold on to the love that had given him strength for so many years? He did not even question that Snow White reciprocated the Prince's feelings to a certain degree, for she too must be reminded of their cherished memories whenever she looked at him.

And yet, he had a notion that what was between himself and the Princess was different. There was something more pure about their relationship that made it all the more deep, and ultimately more precious; a feeling of trust and belonging, born in a hopeless place. Somewhere in the darkest of all forests he had fallen in love with her, and in time his affection had grown into a love so candid, so genuine, it was part of him now and would be forever. If the ancient stories were true, then only True Love's kiss could have awoken her, and he no longer doubted that it was indeed true love that bound them to each other.

For he did love her. He loved the fairest of them all, the one destined to heal the land and rule supreme. It was ridiculous, it was dangerous, and it was hopeless - so much he knew. A lowly huntsman had no place loving a princess, let alone dreaming of being with her. He would probably end up disappointed and see her tie the knot with the Duke's son - but he couldn't help it. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, helpless before the lure of her beauty, her heart, her spirit.

She was his destiny.

And with that, just as the pair was being ushered into the great hall, the smile returned fully to the Huntsman's lips.

A few hours ago he had turned to the drink, thinking that with her death, everything was lost. But she had surprised him once again. She was back from the dead, her iron will now bent on the task that would shape her future, and with her rebirth, Eric felt life and hope rekindled in himself as well. He felt strong, inspired, invigorated; the way any man would feel loving a woman who was life itself.

And now there was a battle at hand. He had sworn allegiance to the Fairest; by her side he would ride. Fortune stood on a razor's edge but it strangely excited him. This was the final test. One last adventure for the Huntsman and his charge.

He laughed suddenly, light piercing through the darkness of his careworn soul. Her image before his eyes, he whispered gently into the night,

_You may flatter yourself, Princess. I give you my heart._


End file.
